Trent Point Blank
by Caesar Augustus Plutarch
Summary: Written in response to a PPMB Iron Chef or stories about an evil Trent. In this tale, Trent is secretly a hitman. This fanfic is an homage to Lawrence Block's Keller stories while the title references the 1997 film Grosse Point Blank.


Trent Point Blank  
by CAP

The slightly frumpy middle-aged woman on the porch swing watched Trent as he slowly ambled up her walkway. In the four years that she knew him she had yet to see him move faster than a stroll. It was a trait she surmised that likely served him well in the long run all things considered.

When Trent finally stepped onto the porch, he paused to scratch the head of the large gray cat lounging on the railing before turning his attention to the woman. "Hey, Maggie," he drawled. "Nice house."

"Thank you," she replied. "Boots there seems to like it."

"Kinda surprised you moved to Lawndale," he said.

"This is where I grew up," Maggie answered. "And I never really liked Baltimore all that much. My girls are grown and moved away so there was nothing to keep me there."

"Especially with the Old Man dead," he said.

"Be sitting," she replied leaning forward to pour a glass of lemonade. "How did out find out about that?"

Trent sat down beside her accepting the iced beverage with a nod of thanks. "It made the news."

"I hadn't realized that," Maggie replied. "The death of one elderly man I wouldn't have thought of as particularly newsworthy especially all the way over here in Lawndale."

Trent twirled the glass slightly. "This is very good," he said before returning to the subject at hand. "Baltimore's not all that far from here. Besides, it the sort of sob story they like to air. An old man, possibly senile, wanders into traffic dressed in pajamas and house slippers. All delivered with proper sobriety and with the added implication that it could have been your father or grandfather."

Trent took a long sip of lemonade before continuing. "I know that he wasn't demented so I'm guessing that you messed with his insulin."

"Yes," Maggie admitted. "Easier than getting him drunk and less suspicious."

"Just wanted to take over the business?" asked Trent.

Maggie shook her head. "I've been running the business, more or less, for the last couple of years. You were the last one he recruited and that was a while back."

"Doesn't seem that long ago," he mused.

"Wait until you're my age," she said. "Four years will pass even quicker."

Trent nodded but said nothing so Maggie went on. "The FBI creaked a cold case over in Delaware, a thirty year-old murder. The Old Man was involved only peripherally but the knock on the door was just a matter of days. I couldn't risk a close look by the Feds."

Trent barely nodded without saying anything so Maggie continued. "You can walk if you want to or we can keep the partnership. Truth be told, I've downsized by half already so if you do stay the workload will increase."

Trent took another long sip of lemonade.

"I'll stay," he replied. "I long figured that you were more than just the housekeeper anyway."

He tapped the side of the glass. "So do I get the antidote now?" he asked with a grin.

Maggie smiled back. Unlike most of their associates, Trent had a sense of humor. It was one of the reasons that she liked him and wanted him to stick around.

"No need for one," she replied pushing herself from the swing. "An elderly man dies its no big deal especially if there isn't an estate of any size involved-"

"Seemingly an estate of little value," Trent interrupted lightly.

She chuckled. "Bless the Caymans but a healthy young man dropping dead on my porch would take some explaining which actually segues nicely into the task at hand. Come inside."

Keeping his lemonade, Trent eased himself from the swing. He followed Maggie into the house with Boots at his heels. The interior almost screamed that a middle aged matron lived here. The couches all had crocheted afghans draped over them. Lamps sat on lace doilies. Two macrame owls hung on one wall. At least a dozen candles found homes on various end tables andshelves. Trent guessed that if he turned on the television it would be on a shopping channel. He knew that like Maggie's dowdy clothes, the house was part of the image that the world was meant to see much like his own slacker musician persona.

"Have a seat," Maggie said returning with a manila folder and a plate of oatmeal cookies. She sat both in front of Trent as he sat down at her dining room table.

"Coaster?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," she replied.

Trent put on his reading glasses and opened the envelope. Mild astonishment registered when he looked at the eight by ten glossy. He glanced at Maggie.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Yes," she responded. "Why? Are you that big of a Delaware Polytechnic football fan?"

Trent glanced back at the photograph before placing it aside, extracting the rest of the papers. "I don't like football at all actually. It's just that I know the guy. We went to high school together."

Maggie picked up the picture. A leering Tommy Sherman stared back at her. "Is that going to be a problem."

"No," Trent chuckled mirthlessly. "I said I knew him. I didn't say I liked him."

Maggie frowned. A personal element was never good. It clouded the judgment but on the other hand, I knew the Old Man for fifteen years yet it did not interfere when the time came to act. Besides the job called for subtlety something that most of Trent's colleagues lacked.

"Date rape, betting on games, selling his autograph," Trent read aloud. "Tommy Boy is covering all the bases."

"The University is looking at a major scandal if all of this breaks and some reporters are already sniffing the trail," Maggie said sitting down opposite of Trent. "They want him dead quickly."

"I'm guessing something more artful than a bullet in the back of his empty head," Trent reflected.

"Yes," came Maggie's reply. "They're paying extra for a tragic accident preferably one that doesn't involve drugs or alcohol."

"What's our timetable?"

"The quicker the better," she said. "Two weeks tops but the bonus is out the window if the reporters get the goods before Sherman's dead."

Trent leaned back in his chair. Slowly he let out a long breath as his mind analyzed the problem. "Tricky," he said more to himself than his employer. "Hit and run, maybe."

He sat for a few more moments before pushing himself back from the table. "I'll see you soon, Maggie."

"Are you heading to Delaware now?"

"No need," Trent said. "Tommy Sherman's here in town right now. According to my sister, Lawndale High is honoring him today."

Maggie rose from the table also. "Don't do anything precipitous. It's never a good idea to pull a job in your own backyard."

"Yeah," Trent agreed lazily. "I'll be cautious but you never know when opportunity will knock."

The drive from Maggie's house to the high school was a short one. Unfortunately, Tommy Sherman was not crossing the street as Trent was driving past the campus. Undeterred he drove on parking a few blocks away at High Hills park.

There were a few mothers that sat on benches watching their toddlers play while they talked amongst themselves. A jogger trotted by, staring at his pedometer and an elderly couple slowly strolled along under the trees but no one save a mildly curious squirrel paid Trent any attention as he unobtrusively slipped on a blue hoodie and a pair of sunglasses.

A circuitous walk brought Trent back to the campus of Lawndale High. He emerged from the residential neighborhood opposite from the football stadium. He carefully scanned the field. Principal Li's paranoia about security was well entrenched already when he roamed the halls of Lawndale High but so far as Trent could tell she had yet to have security cameras installed in the stadium.

Keeping a diligent lookout for guards and cops, he crossed the street. He causally walked along the sidewalk until the grandstand was between him and the school He took another careful scan before pulling himself over the fence.

Trent spied the new goalpost that Janie told him about last night. A safer one that was suppose to collapse or something. Trent shook his head remembering that Tommy Sherman always ramming into the posts after every touchdown run.

Trent stifled the sudden surprised curse there nearly escaped as he fell forward. Pain shot though his arm as he grabbed the grandstand framework to keep himself from hitting the ground. Regaining his balance, he looked around. Laying there just waiting for him to come along was a vaulting pole heedlessly left behind after track and field practice. Trent could almost here it snickering.

No, someone out on the field was snickering. Trent spotted Tommy Sherman as large as life and twice as ugly walking across the grass giggling to himself over some private joke. Trent stepped back into what shadows the seats cast.

Tommy stopped in the end zone and gazed up in rapture at the post. Trent waited, his body motionless, his mind a whirl of activity. After several moments Tommy farted loudly and let go of a contented sigh.

"You da man," he said to himself before turning around to stare down the field.

Trent stared at Tommy then the goalpost and then the vaulting pole. Slowly he moved stepping from under the grandstand. He eased the pole from the ground and glacially turned it ensuring that neither end hit anything. A easy but thorough scrutiny of the area then Trent crept forward.

Tommy turned at the dull thump of the pole connecting with the post. Caught off-guard, not even his athlete's reflexes could get him out of the way. The post smashed into his head with a meaty thud.

Trent stepped back into the shadows. He could hear somebody running across the grass. Crouching low, Trent rapidly made for the back of the grandstand holding the pole before him like a lance. Sudden, loud wailing spurred him on. He turned and scampered along the fence, grateful for the great number of advertising placards that hung there thanks to Principal Li and her ongoing quest for more revenue streams.

Trent stopped after several yards and squatted down. While he was certain that nothing would tie the pole to the incident, he nevertheless meticulously wiped it down.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

"Time to leave," he said to himself as he grabbed the top of the fence.

(*)  
Maggie and Trent were sitting in her parlor scant hours later.

"I said that they wanted the job done quickly but an hour from start to finish...jeez," Maggie said muting the television when the local evening news went to commercial break.

"It was pure dumb luck," Trent said."Whoever called that a safety goalpost must have been high."

"Lucky, most certainly," Maggie agreed. "But dumb, no. You were smart enough to take advantage of the situation when it presented itself."

Trent shrugged. "Heard from DPI yet?"

"Oh, yeah," Maggie laughed. "Ecstatic doesn't come close."

"As long as ecstatic translates into coin," Trent said rising from the sofa. "Well, I need to get home to Janie. For some reason, Tommy's death is bothering her."

"It's hard on young people when someone near their age dies," Maggie said. "They still cling to the idea that they will be immortal."

"Maybe that's it," Trent agreed.

"I'll call you soon, Trent."

"I'll be ready."  
...


End file.
